


Like there's no tomorrow

by von_gikkingen



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-09-06 03:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: “That looks bad.”“Alright Mr Darcy, cool it with the compliments. It’s a bruise, I won’t die of it,” I roll my eyes.“How do your ribs feel?” he says, ignoring that.“Not broken. Already checked,” I say, moving his hand away from the part of my ribcage that, okay, feels a bit tender still. “I thought you understood you’re not here in your capacity as a medical professional.”“Are you in any pain?”“Yes. I hurt all over, goes without saying. So distract me from it.”





	1. Like there's no tomorrow

“Hey, Stephen?”

That was all I needed to say. Somehow he just _knew_ what kind of proposition I was about to make. And to say I caught him by surprise would be an understatement...

“_You can’t be serious._”

“I’m sorry,” I chuckle, enjoying the hell out of the scandalized look on his face, “how do _you_ cope with near death experiences? Look it’s you or one of the space pirates. They look... human-ish…”

“I can look like anything. _Anything_,” utters one of the nearby alien creatures. And shifts its form before I manage to open my mouth to ask it what the actual hell that even means.

Next thing I know I'm looking into my own face. Which is disturbing to say the least. Not merely because I appear to be looking like hell underneath all the alien gore. “_That_,” I say, taking a step closer, “is one hell of a superpower. Could you maybe look like _him_?”

“Why are you like this?” asks the Sorcerer Supreme, annoyed even before the alien transforms into a flawless approximation of him, frustration and all.

“Why am I horny? After surviving a battle I had no right to survive? I mean I know you’re not that kind of a doctor but _come on_, that’s human psychology 101…”

He says nothing. Pointedly.

“Fine,” I shrug. “I just thought I’d say something. You don’t ask, you don’t get. I’ll just…”

“Why me?” he interrupts. Startling the hell out of me, because it really felt like this conversation was over.

“I don’t know. Why _not_ you? Never mind that a lot of this comes down to… like… pheromones,” I frown. “I mean which one of us studied the mechanics of the human animal?”

“You know normal people just say _medicine_,” he says and his expression once again goes very _why are you like this?_

I just shrug. “Boring people do, anyway. Look… Do you want to…?”

“I’m exhausted and don’t tell me you’re not,” he says instead of giving me an actual answer because of course he does. But then again he _is _absolutely right.

“Oh, I’m half dead. Duh. I’m still game if you are,” I hurry to add. “To be perfectly honest I don’t really expect much. No need for fireworks. Just the catharsis. Something physical. A reminder I’m alive...?” I add, my tone going very _am I explaining this right?_ by the end because it’s simply impossible to tell if he’s getting what I’m trying to say. He has his resting exasperated sorcerer face on, so… yeah, I’m getting absolutely nothing here.

And then, just as I’m turning to his alien doppelganger…

“I think I can manage that.”

I can just about keep my jaw from dropping but it’s a struggle. Because it was a serious offer and yet – I never really doubted he’ll just use some very fancy words to let me know just how inappropriate it was for me to say something like that to the leader of my order and then I’ll just have to go with an alternative. To say this was a plot twist would be an understatement.

“Right. So… I’m just going to go wash dead alien dust out of my hair and I’ll be...”

“I’ll find you,” he says. And that’s that. It’s decided.

“Great,” I say under my breath as I turn to go help the injured. “So… this is happening I guess…”

...

“That looks _bad_.”

“Alright Mr Darcy, cool it with the compliments. It’s _a bruise_, I won’t die of it,” I roll my eyes.

“How do your ribs feel?” he says, ignoring that.

“Not broken. Already checked,” I say, moving his hand away from the part of my ribcage that, okay, feels a bit tender still. “I thought you understood you’re not here in your capacity as a medical professional.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“_Yes_. I hurt all over, goes without saying. So distract me from it,” I say, starting to tug at his tunic because I suddenly really don’t like how I’m the only one that’s naked.

Never mind that I feel the need to hurry because I have some serious doubts about this being actually happening. Just the fact he did exactly what he said he would and came to find me here, double checking I got all the alien gore off me in front of a mirror was mindblowing. And his first action being untying my robe and…

And now I was starting to wonder if he only did that to get better view of just how badly battered I was after the battle.

But he doesn’t exactly fight me as I get his tunic opened so that probably means that, yeah, we’re actually doing this. “Not here,” he says only and opens a portal. And yeah, good call, room with an actual bed in it does sound better. Not that I would mind too much if I had to spend a few minutes with the cold tiles pressing into my back. I'm not that picky right now. I just _really_ need this.

And maybe it's not just me. Because I preceded him through the portal and I had every intention to get on the bed so we can get right down to this. But before I could do anything of the kind I could feel his arm around my waist, stopping me in my track.

And sure, I need this to be quick – something to be over with as soon as possible so I can start getting on with the other thing I _really_ need right now which would be sleeping for at least a week. That being said I just relax against him and wait. Wait for whatever is going to happen next. Because I genuinely can’t tell with him. So, yeah, when his hand starts to move downward it comes as a surprise. The kind that sends a shiver through me.

“Hey, Stephen,” I say after a moment, even though I am enjoying what his fingers are doing a good deal, “I did say all I needed was something quick.”

“That’s not how I do things.”

I have to bite down on a grin. Because of course he’d say something like that.

There’s a part of me that is really onboard with doing it his way because he so obviously knows what he’s about, but… _But_ I feel this is a little too pressing for me to allow him to take his time. Maybe some other day, if that’s in the cards. Right now though I'd rather he wasn't this concerned with my needs…

“Okay, so…” I say after an involuntary moan escapes me, feeling like I _have to _say something because it’s now or never, “for the record this is not how I do things either. It’s really not. But considering what today was like, what once in a lifetime kind of horrible experience it was…”

“Yes…?” he says and something in my tone must have told him this would be a good time to move his hand somewhere else because that is what he does in the next moment.

“There’s only one way you cope with a day like this. And not to be crude but… you fuck like there’s no tomorrow because it’s a freaking miracle that there is gonna be one and…”

I don’t get any further because he gets the message. Or so it feels because then he’s taking me by the shoulder to make me face him and he’s kissing me in a way that tells me that he gets what I’m trying to say. Oh yes, he understands me completely. There is no doubt about that.

It’s entirely possible that I get into the spirit of things a little too hard because the next thing I know I'm digging my nails into his chest and he’s taking me by the wrists to make me cut it out. Which is fair. I am really not thinking clearly here. “You might have a point there,” he says and his voice is just a little hoarse and I can’t help being pleased with myself over that. And then I can feel his lips on my neck…

I take a few backwards steps, pulling him with me as I go. And then I can feel the back of my legs colliding with the edge of the bed and… the rest happens surprisingly quickly. All my doubts about whether or not I'll be getting what I need. Next thing I know I’m lying on my back and he’s wasting no time getting on top of me, getting inside me, getting to reminding me I’m still alive. That my blood still runs warm and my heart can still beat wild. “Are your ribs…?” I hear him say as I slide my hands under his partially undone tunic and dig my nails into his back.

“They’re fine. Don’t stop,” I tell him. Possibly a touch pleadingly because just the idea he might is not something I want to even contemplate.

And it’s what I expected in a lot of ways, it _is_, but it’s not just pleasure. Because I lied and the truth is that the pain of all my minor injuries is setting my nervous system aflame too, in sharp contrast to the ecstasy I feel at his touch. To me the pain is no reason to stop. What it is is an additional reminder that I’m alive, still, despite the odds being anything but in my favor. That I lived to feel this, this overwhelming sensation of pure animal joy. The friction of it, the warmth, the… release.

“God,” I whisper, letting out a shuddering breath. Because I really didn’t expect _that_ would happen. At all, never mind this fast.

If he heard me – if he even realized – he makes no reply. Just keeps doing what he’s doing and the truth is I don’t really want him to stop. I enjoy it too much. Knowing I’m responsible for making him lose the serious wizard act this completely while he… well, fucks me like there’s no tomorrow. And so I just close my eyes and let myself feel this, every moment of this, because I know it can’t possibly go on for that much longer. If I had one hell of a day his absolutely must have been worse. And suddenly I’m very pleased with myself for being here to make it better – even if the impulse was very much a selfish one…

“Okay so those don’t look great either,” I say when he’s done and rolls onto his back – his opened tunic revealing quite a few bruises I didn’t really have the presence of mind to notice before. But now I do. And I do _not _feel great about the fact that on top of that there are crescent red marks where my nails dug into his skin.

“You were right,” he says, ignoring my concern. “This was… incredibly cathartic.”

“Told you,” I chuckle.

And leave it at that because he already closed his eyes and I know he won’t open them again for a very long time. Because that was the last of his reserves of energy and the truth is I’m not much better.

I can just about to manage giving him one more concerned look before I tug at the bedsheet, pulling it around me because this feels about the perfect moment to just give up on this far too long, impossibly exhausting day.

Well... at least it ended on a pretty good note...


	2. Like the world is ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... never expected to be writing an additional chapter to this - I mean it said all it needed to say... but recently my wonderful bipolar brain flipped the switch and it's back to being flooded by more ideas than there are hours in the day... and on top of all the new OCs that are demanding to have their stories written the unnamed protagonist of this piece is right back in my life... (just for a chapter... I THINK... but then what do I know, I thought this one was finished...)  


** _… Several years earlier… _ **

** **

“Ragnarok is coming.”

“Okay. Let me just…” I say, still keeping one eye on the stranger at the door even as I yell over my shoulder, “_Wong!_ There’s a confused pensioner at the door…!”

Turning my full attention to the pensioner in question – a man with an eyepatch and a beard of a Norse deity and a life-weary expression that ruins the hell out of that look. Because he might superficially look something like a discount cosplay of _the Allfather_, but clearly he’s just… Well, exactly what he seems. Just a very old man.

One that managed to locate this house we usually made sure people couldn’t just walk up to, but things like that still insisted on happening no matter our efforts. Magic wasn’t foolproof. Not by a long shot…

“Wait,” I say, catching up to just how bizarre this conversation was. “Did you say _Ragnarok_?”

He opens his mouth to answer me – or possibly just to repeat that unsettling phrase for a second time, with added emphasis in case he wasn’t being dramatic enough. But since that really won’t be necessary in order to progress this conversation I smile at him to let him know not to bother before I yell for Wong again. Only to get no answer.

“Typical,” I mutter under my breath even as I’m stepping aside so the elderly man can shuffle in. “Look, you find a chair you like the look off and I’ll just…”

But that’s as far as I get into figuring out what to do next. The somewhat annoyed voice of the Sorcerer Supreme asking me what is all the yelling about makes me forget where I’ve been heading with that sentence.

“We have a situation, obviously,” I reply, gesturing. “Walked right up to the door and started warning me about Ragnarok first thing. So excuse me for wanting to have someone more superior dealing with this.”

I’d think he’d have no problem with me doing _that_, what with him forever warning us about being realistic about our abilities and not taking on more than we can take. But no. For some reason he seems to be unhappy with me despite the fact I'm doing _the thing he's always tells me to do_…

“What?” I say, frowning at him.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says. I shrug, feeling like something is definitely getting lost in translation here. But it’s not like I can do much more than stand here and wait for him to spell it out for me. “Why did you call _Wong_?”

“Oh,” I say, realizing what it is he has a problem with. “Other than the obvious reason?”

He nods at that but still waits for me to explain myself. Because doing exactly as I’ve been instructed and not disturbing him while he was busy working on perfecting some extremely complex spell wasn’t an answer enough for him. “I mean,” I say, pointing vaguely in the direction of the chair currently occupied with the Viking looking man. “The oldtimer is clearly having one hell of a day already without having to be exposed to your personality. I called for Wong because he’s the nice one…?” I add, just to make sure he gets my message.

“I see.”

I blink back my surprise at the lack of annoyance in those words. Even his expression is all _yeah, that’s fair_. And I’m not entirely sure what to do with that information. I mean… I never even suspected he knew how annoying he could be.

Weirdly I find myself wanting to tell him that he actually is an amazing sorcerer and there's no one I'd rather have fighting beside me the next time this dimension starts doing one of the weird twilight zone things it does every now and then, just to keep us on our toes. It’s just that in situations requiring human touch he was no one’s first choice. Which was _fine_. Also probably not as relevant right now because the uneasy look he was giving the old man told me that we were dealing with a genuine Asgardian here. So, yeah, _human touch _wasn’t exactly what was needed.

“Are you finished with renewing the wards on the Sanctum?” he asks me before I manage to vocalize any of my thoughts.

I just about stop short of grinning at _that_ question. “Nope,” I reply. “Not for hours yet. Do you have any idea how complex a job that is? Rhetorical question,” I say, raising my hands to let him know there’s no need for him to sarcastically point out he _is _the Sorcerer Supreme so of course he knows.

“Want to get back to it?” he says instead. “Anytime soon, possibly?”

I roll my eyes and head for the staircase. Leaving him alone with who I’m pretty sure _isn’t_ the actual Allfather. No. Must be a different confused elderly god. If the king of Asgard was missing we’d heard about it…

“Were you calling?” Wong asks, materializing just as I reach the top of the stairs.

“Dude…” I grin, shaking my head. “Your reaction time…”

“I was busy.”

“We’re _all _busy,” I point out. “Look, there’s someone’s dramatic grandpa prophesying Ragnarok in our lobby. But the good doctor is already on it.”

...

When I come back down from the roof a few hours later, having finally completed that nightmare of a spell that should hopefully keep any future muggles from just wondering up to our door I find the lobby once again Viking free. Which either means it was a false alarm – or that it _wasn’t_ and Strange did what he does whenever possible. Sent it through a portal to be someone else’s problem, what with us having plenty on our hands even on the most boring of days.

There was a reason not that many people went into magic. Keeping this dimension in one piece was a full-time goddamn job.

“We’re borrowing her from Hong Kong. I told you this. Several times.”

Dragging my feet I follow the voice into one of the adjoining rooms. Not to eavesdrop. Of course not. To let them know I was all done doing their chores for them and I would be heading to my usual Sanctum now…

That’s the plan, anyway. But as exhausted as I currently am, it’s almost guaranteed what I’m going to say instead will be a lot less to the point. “You weren’t actually expecting him to remember that, were you? That’s like expecting the Emperor to remember the name of every single stormtrooper.”

At first I’m not sure it’s not going to get misinterpreted as a criticism. But Strange does seem to understand me perfectly. The problematic analogy aside what I’m actually saying is that _of course _he can’t be expected to remember all us random extras. There are too damn many of us. Me, I don’t even know half the people that pass through the Hong Kong Sanctum on any given day – and I straight up gave up on the novices learning the basics in Kamar-Taj. Yeah, let them save the reality a few times. _Then _I’ll bother finding out what they're called.

“You’re finished?” asks the Sorcerer Supreme. And it’s probably just his resting serious face, but there’s just something about him that immediately puts me on the defensive even though he in no way accused me of taking too many tea breaks and not doing enough magic.

No wonder I think of Wong as _the nice one_.

“Finished,” I confirm, and just saying it makes me feel ready to take a nap because, dammit, magic takes _a lot_ out of a person.

Silence settles over us for a moment. But for what is possibly the first time since he replaced the Ancient One it manages not to be on the uncomfortable side. It doesn’t make me feel he’s losing his patience with me over something. Doesn’t make me want to make myself scarce before he comes up with another chore to assign me.

“So… what was that Ragnarok business about?” I ask after I let it last for just about a second.

“What do you think?”

“Answering with a question?” I grin. “So mature… Fine. Is the world ending?”

His very serious expression never changes as he says, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“O… kay…” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Why aren’t we more worried about that?”

“We can’t afford to start panicking every time that happens or panicking would be all we’d be doing,” says Wong.

“But… _a world is ending_…” I say with all the emphasis I can manage.

“Not _our_ world.”

I just stand there staring at the two of them for a good few seconds. “_Wow_. You guys are _pragmatic,_” I say, with extra emphasis on the last word to make sure it won't get misinterpreted as a compliment. It was _not_. Just a very depressing fact. One they're not even trying to dispute.

But hey - good to know where you are with the people who are giving you orders. God knows how I'd cope if it ever turned out that wears-cape-to-work has the capacity to surprise me...


End file.
